


the dangerous art of loving you

by richiegayzier



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alcohol, Homophobia, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Underage Drinking, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-07-15 06:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16057472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richiegayzier/pseuds/richiegayzier
Summary: Will Byers is a fool.He can’t stop thinking about icy blue eyes and dark, wavy brown hair. About freckles that create constellations of beauty across pale skin. About soft pianist hands and a soul full of wonder. (He knows jack shit about pianists, which is why the thought worries him so). About a boy who’s got a wonderful way with words, able to spin them into stories unlike he’s ever heard. About small boys sat on a swing set, just the two of them against the world.Will Byers is a fool to have ever thought loving Mike could be easy.---things are happening. coming november 27.





	the dangerous art of loving you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Byers? Is A Fool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS LATE IM SORRY SHXHFH THERES AN AIM FOR AN UPLOAD SCHEDULE BUT ITS UNLIKELY

Will supposes he’s probably one of the only people sad to leave middle school.

 

There’s people yelling, papers flying everywhere, all too glad to be done with the horrors of 8th grade, and Will just wants to stay. Middle school hasn’t been all that great, sure, but he’d have to be a fool to believe high school would be better. And Will Byers is no such fool.

 

His friends run ahead, chatting excitedly about the upcoming summer. Of pool days and ice cream and doing absolutely nothing important. They’re happy, so Will’s happy, too. It’s the first summer with all six of them (he wonders, not for the first time, how their party could get so big so quick), and he’s dedicated to having a good one. He’s got three months to mope about highschool, anyway.

 

Mike slows his pace, falling into step beside Will, and smiles. Will smiles back. Yeah. Summer will be good.

\---

Steve takes his lunch break late and picks El and then them up in his battered Chevy (shit on wheels, as Max fondly calls it), driving them to Scoops for ice cream on him. Lucas and Mike race for the front seats, whilst the rest pile in the back; Will’s legs flung in El’s lap, her and Max’s in Dustin’s. The wind blows Max’s red hair about as they go, Dustin recounting a funny story from English Lit that Will really doesn’t listen to. A stone hits him on the cheek, and he looks up to see El giggling at him quietly. He smiles.

\---

The ice cream goes exactly how Will expected; Lucas pesters Steve everytime a new customer walks in, making his life that much more difficult, Max and Dustin argue for the 15th time over which flavour is  _ really _ superior (Max says raspberry ripple, Dustin says chocolate, and Will can’t understand why it even matters so much), and El disappears behind the counter into the store room whilst Robin, the other employee who works Steve’s shift, ruffles her hair hello. Typical. 

 

He sits at their booth, all six of their initials scratched into the polished wood wall (“Because”, Lucas had said, digging his pen in on the parlour’s opening day, “we need to claim our ground. Mark our territory.”), and watches a bunch of 10th grade girls as they carry armfuls of shopping bags through the mall, giggling together. He feels Mike slide next to him, feet already tapping impatiently at the lino. “Hey,” he whispers softly, “anybody home?”

Will shifts his body so he can look at him, brown eyes teasing yet concerned. He could draw constellations with Mike’s freckles. “I’m fine,” he says, “just thinking about how much I’m gonna miss middle school.”

There’s an understanding smile on Mike’s face; he knows, through late night talks over the supercomm after Will wakes from a particularly nightmarish sleep, how much he loathes the change of not only hallways, but classes, and teachers; he knows that Will is terrified of losing the familiarity that’s helped him stay sane since that November. Knocking his shoulder with his own, Mike grins. “It’ll be okay, yeah? Y’know that we’re all gonna be here for you, that I’m always gonna stick with you.”

Will knows; he very much likes that knowledge.

“Plus,” Mike adds lightheartedly, “there’s loads of cute girls in high school.”

He really wishes his friends weren’t so dense, wishes that they’d see that he, Will Byers, was absolutely, decisively, positively gay.

 

It’s probably selfish of him to think that, and he knows it - it’s not  _ their _ fault that he’s never found a good time to tell them. But Will thinks he’s earned the right for a little selfishness from time to time, so he lets himself be frustrated.

 

El comes over carrying a tub of bubblegum ice cream, stolen from the back with Robin’s help, and starts eating it with the biggest spoon he’s ever seen. The sight ends with both Will and Mike doubled over laughing while she shoots them a quizzical look and Steve yells for them to  _ shut up, dickheads, before any customers get here, do they  _ want _ him to get fired? _ Eventually they calm down, and Will rests his head on his friends shoulder, still giggling quietly. Mike is warm.

\---

When they finally get to the arcade later, it’s packed tight, kids at every game, shouting. Will feels like he’s suffocating, but the fond hand on his arm keeps him grounded, reminds him that he’s okay.

 

They end up crammed around digdug as Dustin tries (and, as always, fails) to beat Max’s highscore. There’s El, peering over Lucas’ shoulder in wonder, said boy egging Dustin on. There’s Max, distracting Dustin as he plays, ensuing that he can’t come get anywhere close to her score. And there’s Mike, smiling, too preoccupied with watching someone else playing PacMan two games over to notice as Will stares intently at his face. His blissful face, all the stress of 1984 gone, his features calm and careless. His face, of which Will knows every curve of, every freckle, every scar. His face, that leaves Will Byers in an constant internal battle over wanting not to kiss. 

 

So maybe he is a fool.

He can’t stop thinking about icy blue eyes and dark, wavy brown hair. About freckles that create constellations of beauty across pale skin. About soft pianist hands and a soul full of wonder. (He knows jack shit about pianists, which is why the thought troubles him so). About a boy who’s got a wonderful way with words, able to spin them into stories unlike he’s ever heard. About small boys sat on a swing set, just the two of them against the world.

Will Byers is a fool to have ever thought loving Mike could be easy.


End file.
